The Little Merman
by Damian
Summary: The real story of the Little Mermaid, how she was lost, how she was saved and the doings of the one merman who was responsible for it.


The Little Merman

The True Story of the Little Mermaid

Omen sat with his head in his hands.  It had been three weeks.  Three long, painful weeks.  And he still hadn't heard from her.

"Dear Neptune!" he whispered, hoping that the god of the ocean was listening well to him.  "Let her be here this time.  Please let her be here this time!"

He swam slowly up to the castle walls and, taking a deep breath, pulled the long, dark seaweed that hung by the door.  The eerie sound of wind blowing through a conch shell rang out through the water.  For the umpteenth time, Omen wondered just how such a feat was possible, two thousand feet below any wind.

"Yes?" came a sad voice from inside.  Not that that was an indicator of any sort.  The bass that operated the door always sounded like that.

"I'm here to see Princess Lorelei," he said, his voice shaking with apprehension.

"She's unavailable, may I ask who's calling?"

Omen cursed angrily under his breath.  Where in Neptune's name could she be?

"Well then, can I speak to King Danavas?" he pressed, unable to believe his ears in asking to speak to the mighty king of the ocean himself.

"I doubt he will be available either," came the polite reply.  Omen tried not to growl.

"Can you at least try?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"By all means," said the bass, swimming away.

Omen leaned back, still perplexed.  He looked up the castle of the sea-king.  It was encrusted with the most beautiful pearls of the oysters, the most iridescent of all the shells and the most beautiful of all scales.  It's spires rose up toward the sunlight and, at times almost seemed to touch the surface, even though Omen knew that was impossible.  The myriad shades of coral that made up the walls shone with an ethereal beauty.  And each rooftop was a shell-like spiral to make the most impressive hermit crab cringe with shame.  The blue sunlight that filtered through under the waves just made the entire castle seem dreamlike.  Omen used to think that there was no reason for him to have ever wanted to enter the castle, it could not possibly compare with the magnificence of the outside.  Then he was introduced to its beautiful inhabitants and he swiftly changed his mind.

He smiled softly, remembering the first time that he had encountered the beautiful Princesses of Levyatan.

It all began a year ago, with his summons to the castle.  He knew from his mother that he would eventually need to go to the castle and take his rightful place among the council of lords.  And, on his sixteenth birthday, he woke up one morning and found a messenger of the king outside his door, holding a very formal looking invitation to the council of lords.

No idiot refused a direct summons from the king, so Omen bit the bullet and left with the messenger the next day.

It was a long and arduous journey to the capital, Levyatan, made no easier by Omen's tenseness and the guard's reticence to talk about anything, even the never changing weather.  There were no roads and certain episodes in the forests of kelp did not bear mentioning.  Omen wondered if he would ever forget that awful memory of the sirens.  

He had still been very naïve then, traveling along the barely discernable path through the forest.  The mackerel that had come to fetch him had swam a little further ahead than Omen would have liked, but he was afraid to be a scaredy-catfish, so he restrained himself from rushing up ahead to huddle close to his guide.  Not to mention the fact that the fish made it very clear that it had better things it could be doing than guppysitting him on the way.  Like cleaning the palace dungeons, for example.  And so Omen let himself fall further behind, trying to prove to both the fish and to himself that he was not scared.  He swam along, marveling at how harmless and benign the kelp was.  And then, he heard the voices.  They were the most exquisite sound that Omen had ever heard.  It was three female voices, singing a beautiful trio about true love and devotion.  He drifted toward them, unable to conquer the feeling that the singing was directed to him and him only.  As if the beautiful soprano voices were calling out to him, promising all of the pleasure and wonder that they sang about in their song.  All he needed to do was follow them.

He swam off into the forest, his mind filled with the heady images of beautiful mermaids and the promise of eternal bliss.  It was only when he reached the edge of an underwater chasm that the mackerel tailing him finally caught up.

"What are you doing?" it yelled at him.  Omen paid him no heed; he was too intent on the angelic voices drifting out of the bottom of the canyon.

"Come back!" it yelled, swimming forward.  Omen began to dive down into the huge cleft in the ocean floor.

One of the voices was rising up from the bottom of the floor, singing sweetly to him.  He reached down for it… and screamed.

A ferocious looking sea serpent flashed out of the depths.  She had the head of a beautiful woman and the body of a monster.

"NO!" he yelled, trying to swim back up as fast as he could.  But she was too close.  She nearly had her tentacles wrapped around him, ready to drag him down to the depths of her lair.  Suddenly, a hand came out of nowhere; dragging him up, out of her grasp and out of the abyss.

"Are you alright?" asked his savior gruffly.

"I- I think so," Omen gasped.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said the merman, already swimming away.

"Wait," Omen called, wanting to thank him properly.  "I don't even know your name!"

"Dan!" he called back and then was lost in the murky depths of the ocean.

The rest of the trip remained uneventful.  He reached the magnificent castle of the king a day later and his guide, having fulfilled his onerous duty, went off the clean the dungeons.  Omen was given a small but well furnished house about half a mile from the castle and was told that it was his familial dwelling place, used by every single Lord of the Seaweed Plains since the beginning of time.  Omen settled in on the first day, unpacking his satchel and putting the meager belongings he had into different storage spaces.  After all, he was still young and had fewer adornments that displayed his rank than others of the aristocracy.  He knew he should probably go out and buy some, but he was disinclined to do anything just then other than take a long, refreshing nap.

The next day, the last of the lords had arrived and Omen received his summons to the council.

He took five minutes just to array himself in the few linked chains and pearls that his mother had given him to wear then swam off in a hurry, eager to make a good impression.  

He was, fortunately, just on time.  A small flounder ushered him into the council room and he gasped with wonder.  He was in an enormous room, almost the size of his manor back home.  All over the room, merlords and their merladies swam to their designated seats.  Each was wearing numerous gold necklaces, bracelets, rings and crowns.  Omen felt like the epitome of a small, uncouth, backwater lording.  

He wanted to ask someone where all the seats were, but he was too shy and tongue-tied.

"Hello," said a pleasant, oddly familiar voice from behind him.  Omen spun around in shock.  It was the man who had rescued him from the sirens.  Except with numerous adornments, more than anyone else in the room.  And if that wasn't enough, the crown and trident shaped scepter were a dead giveaway.

"Your Majesty," Omen gasped, bowing low.

"Hello, Omen," said the king, shaking his hand.  "You'll be sitting over there with my daughters."

And he swam off, leaving Omen gaping openmouthed

He floated dumbly over to where three of the famed Princesses of Levyatan were arguing vociferously.

"No, I did not take your sea sh- Who are you?"

He looked at the beautiful princess glaring down at him.

"I am Lord Omen of the Seaweed Plains," he said, bowing once again.  May I enquire what name you were given that could not possibly do justice to your loveliness?"

She blushed prettily.  "My name is Amphitrite."  He nodded.  It was a very pretty name.  He looked enquiringly at the other two sisters, each of which was beautiful in her own way.  Amphitrite seemed to be the oldest at about eighteen.  The other two both looked younger.  And while Amphitrite was dark with long, flowing black hair that fell down in waves all the way to her fins, the next one that approached had pale blond hair that she had pulled back from her face and eyes the color of the deepest azure.

"My name is Thalassa," she said, brushing a few strands of golden tresses out of her eyes and batting her eyes at him.  Omen gulped.  He had a feeling that he was not going to be focusing much of his attention on the council proceedings.

"I'm Niamh," said the third.  She looked to be about his age and had long brown hair that she had combed over her shoulder and put an anemone in it.  Her eyes were the pale green of the ocean on a cloudy day.

"We have two more sisters that are sitting with their husbands," said Thalassa, pointing to the other side of the room.  "Their names are Asherat and Melite.  But don't worry about them.  They're too busy with their new husbands."

"But we have all the time we need," added Niamh.  "We don't need to get married until out nineteenth birthdays."

"That's not so long for some of us," muttered Amphitrite.  

"Oh, she's already eighteen," said Thalassa.  "I'm seventeen and Niamh just sixteen."

"Like me," Omen whispered to her with a wink.  He could get used to all this, girls vying for his attention and him needing to do little more than occasionally flirt and make witty remarks.

"Where is Lorelei?" Niamh asked suddenly.  "I haven't seen her in my cosmetics all day."

"Today's her special day," replied Amphitrite.  "She finally gets to go up to the surface.  Not that there's anything interesting up there.  Just flowers."

Seeing the puzzled look in Omen's face, she explained.

"The law is that, on her fifteenth birthday, a princess is allowed to go above the waves for one day and look upon all the wonders up there.  I saw a beautiful forest of seaweed with anemones like you've never seen that don't sting and, there was something special about them, I can't describe it.  There was something in the air that added to their beauty.  My grandmother calls it fragrance, whatever that is."  She smiled nonchalantly.

"What did you see?" he asked Thalassa, who looked desperate to regale him with her adventures above the waves.

"You know how you can see the bright yellowness shining through the water?" she asked rhetorically.  "Well, when you get above the water, it suddenly becomes so bright.  It's like there's a huge orb of gold hanging in the sky, shining light all over the whole world.  And it sparkles on the ocean like it was a huge sapphire.  I could stare at it for hours."

"And judging by how long she took up there, she did," muttered Niamh.  "Now let me tell you what I saw.  You won't believe it.  I went up to the surface and I swear by Neptune, I saw huge floating diamonds.  I swam up to touch one and they were bitterly cold and water flowed from them.  It was amazing.  I tried to bring a piece home with me to show everyone but, by the time I reached the castle, it had disappeared.  I think they were magic diamonds."

Her sisters laughed at her, sounding as if they had heard this story many times and grew more and more skeptical with each retelling.

A loud horn sounded.  Omen jumped.

"Don't worry," said Amphitrite, "That's just Daddy trying to get attention."

And so, Omen sat back and listened attentively to the openings of the congress.  It soon became apparent that King Danavas had called them all there to deal with the pressing issue of humans.  It had been many years since the legged ones had disturbed them, but the salmon that were Danavas' spies had been giving him troublesome news.  Humans were becoming apt at navigating the seas.  It was becoming less and less of a mystery to them and they even had something called machines that could tell them some things that were under the water.  This last was the most disturbing.  For the last thousand years, the merfolk had lived undisturbed under the waves.  Would those years of solitude now be coming to an end?

King Danavas dismissed them to go and return to their homes, since it was waxing dark and no one would be able to see well enough in the dark to conduct a meeting.  They would continue again the next day.

Omen stayed late to say goodbye to his new friends and so, by the time he left, it was already twilight.  He was meandering slowly out of the castle, lost in his thoughts.  Omen was so lost that he didn't notice the youngest princess of Levyatan until he swam right into her.

"Hello," he said politely.  "Who are you?"

"I am Princess Lorelei," she said haughtily, "Youngest child of King Danavas."

"I am sorry," he replied, making the low bow that seemed to be all he did these days.  "I wasn't paying attention to where I was swimming and just completely didn't see you."

Her expression softened.

"That's okay," she said, sitting back down in one of the sponge chairs.  "I do that sometimes too."

"Happy Birthday," he said, suddenly remembering that today was the Princess's first visit to the surface.

"Thank you," she whispered before being overcome by curiosity.  "How did you know?"

"Your sister Niamh told me," he answered.  "I was at the meeting today."

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding very sincere.  He bit back a laugh.  "The surface was much more interesting."

"Tell me about it," he asked.

"Okay," she said happily.  "You won't believe what I saw.  I swam all the way up to the surface and, when I was near the top, I saw this weird shadow on top of the water.  So I swam up to take a closer look.  First of all, the surface is beautiful.  The water looks like a flat jewel and the light cuts into a myriad of blues and it seems to go on forever until it pours off the face of the world.  But the most incredible part was the shadow.  My grandmother told me about them, they're called boats.  It was the biggest boat I'd ever seen, bigger even than the Great Whale."

Omen sucked in his breath.  If it wasn't for the Princess's determined belief in her own story, he would have thought she was making it up.

"And then, when I swam up close, I finally got my first good look at them."

"Who?" Omen asked excitedly.

"Humans, of course," she said with a laugh.  "They really do have two legs, just the way my grandmother said.  And they wear these strange things around themselves that covers up almost all of their skin.  And I couldn't see their… feet!  That's the word, because they were also covered.  But their legs were split all the way up to where the fins start.  And the way that they moved, it was so strange.  And they danced and climbed and ran and could even jump in the water and swim.  It was amazing."

Omen was smiling, but was a little dazed inside.  For one thing, he found this little princess to be very attractive.  And, for another, she spoke about human beings as if they were just like merfolk.  And she wasn't afraid.  He admired her bravery.

"It gets better," she said with a secretive smile.

"How?" Omen asked.

"You have to swear never to tell anyone about this.  No matter what!  Never!"

"I swear," said Omen immediately.

She looked at him askance.

"Do you promise on the royal triton of Neptune?" she asked.

Omen gulped.  That was the most serious of all vows one could make.  But he really wanted to know.  And so he swore, by the royal triton of Neptune, never to tell a soul what he would hear.

"I touched a human," she said smugly.  Omen's jaw dropped in shock.

"D'you wanna hear how?" she asked.  He nodded mutely.

"Well, he was dancing along with everyone else when, suddenly, he flew off the boat."  She made a sweeping gesture with her hands to illustrate the human's fall.  "I watched him try to swim, but he slowly began to sink underneath the water.  Then I remembered how weird humans are, that they can't stay underwater for too long.  So I dove down and grabbed the human and pulled him to the surface.  I must have gone the wrong way down there because when I resurfaced, the boat was very far away.  So I held the human and swam to the boat as fast as I could.  It was so very fast that, when I reached the edge, I was incredibly tired.  So I just hung onto the ropes, making sure to try and keep as much of the human above water as possible.  I tried to call out to the other humans, but I was scared.  Then, I had a brilliant idea.  I could sing to them and then, when they would come, they would rescue him.  I didn't want him to die.  And he was very handsome, even without fins.  So I sang one of the ocean songs for him.  And suddenly, I think it was a girl, looked over the edge and saw us floating there.  She screamed and called for help.  I slid underneath the human and held him up until his fellow humans pulled him aboard.  It was very exciting!"

Omen gaped at her.  He had no idea what to say.

"So, did you like my story?" she asked, her eyes filled with wonder.

"It was incredible," he replied truthfully.  "But I think I wouldn't tell it to your father so quickly."

She laughed.  "Of course not, silly."

He looked outside.  It was nearly pitch black.

"Shoot," he hissed.  "I can't go home when it's this dark."

Lorelei looked at him, bemused.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"In Kelp Cottage," he answered, quoting the sign that hung on the door.

"Okay," she said.  "I'll go with you."

"I can't let you come with me into the dark," he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't be silly," she said.  "I know the way perfectly fine.  "Besides, I'll take glowfish with us."

She picked up a glowing lamp that was on the table.  She smiled at him and he felt his fins go weak.

"Let's go," she said.

Omen smiled as he remembered that swim home.  It had been the first of many.  And those many had grown, over the year, into a blossoming relationship.  And, on Omen's side at least, into the essence of love and devotion for the beautiful, capricious Lorelei.

The bass returned to the door, opening it and looking disdainfully at Omen.  He snapped back out of his daydream of Lorelei.  He had to focus on the present, for the past held no joy if he could not find her now.

"His majesty, King Danavas, will see you at once."

Omen gulped.  He swam in slowly, following the bass as he navigated the twisted corridors to the kings throne room.  Each one was lit with glow plankton contained in translucent shells that gave light all over the castle.  The floor was covered in a layer of beautiful blue sponge.  The walls were made of pastel corals that grew in the most fantastic shapes.  Every so often, Omen would pass a tapestry woven of different colors of seaweed that displayed the most fantastic scenes.  Omen stopped before the picture of what looked like a crocodile with fins that swam through the air and shot mythical fire from its mouth.

"Sir?" asked his guide, sounding both respectful and condescending at the same time.  Omen tore his eyes away from the picture and continued his swim down the corridor.

"Here you are," said his escort, stopping at doors made of pure gold.  Omen's jaw dropped far enough to touch the sponge carpet.

The doors swung open wide and the bass swam in before him.

"Lord Omen Dylan, Lord of the Seaweed plains," he announced in a pompous voice.

Omen took a deep breath and walked into the throne room of the great king of the ocean.

"Your Majesty," he began, sweeping a low bow and trying not to gawp at his magnificent surroundings.  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in the throne room.  The walls of the room were made of a material he had never seen before.  It was solid, yet it let light through.  And each one was a different color.  The result was that it painted glorious patterns and pictures on the floor of the room that undulated with the ocean waves.

Omen couldn't help but gasp with amazement.

"I see you like my stained glass," said King Danavas, a certain proprietary pride in his features.  "But come closer.  You didn't come here to gaze at the scenery."

"No," he said, swimming closer.  He took a good look at the King as he did so.  It had been about a year since Omen had seen him up close and, in that time, his face had developed leathery creases and his hair grew whiter.  Omen wondered if that was merely the natural effect of age or due to some other troubles that had befallen the king.

"I was told that you were questioning the whereabouts of my youngest daughter, the Princess Lorelei."

Omen nodded.  King Danavas slumped into his chair with a sigh.

"Come here, Omen," he said, not unkindly.  Omen walked forward to where the King was slouching.

"What is it, Sire?" he asked, beginning to worry about the monarch.

"So you too have noticed the continued absence of my daughter," he said, leaning on one arm.

"Sire," he found himself saying, "If there is any way at all I could help you, you have all the resources at my disposal and more."

King Danavas smiled fondly at him.

"You care for her deeply," he murmured.  Omen blushed crimson, making the king smile a little.  "That's good," said King Danavas.  "I need someone who cares for her that much."

"Umm, where exactly is she?" Omen finally found the courage to ask again.

The king sighed deeply.

"She has turned herself into a human and gone to the surface."

The room swam before Omen's eyes.  THE SURFACE???

"B-but, h-h-how?" he stuttered when he finally recovered from the sheer shock of the king's words.

The king shook his head sadly.

"Do you remember the sirens at the bottom of the chasm?" he asked quietly.  Omen shuddered involuntarily.

"Apparently," said the king.  "Well, they are enchantresses of the most powerful order.  And they do not just use their magic to seduce unwary men.  They can also cast powerful spells.  Spells powerful enough to turn a fifteen-year-old mermaid into a human.  But the spells always come at a terrible price.  I shudder to think what my poor Lorelei must have done to claim her prize.  And I cannot help but wonder why."

Omen had an inkling of what Lorelei's motives were, but he had sworn to keep his word and nothing, not even the demands of the Sea King himself, would make Omen break that oath.

Danavas looked kindly at Omen.

"You've had a rough day and I didn't mean to unburden myself on you," he said smiling, but Omen could see a tear in the king's eyes.  "Go home and rest," he continued.  "This is not the affair of the young."

Omen bowed out and swam off, but he was not heading back to his home.  As he had left the throne room, he had made up his mind and now his resolve was far too firm to be shaken.  He was going to the sirens and he was going to rescue his Lorelei.

By the time he reached the chasm, about twelve hours later, Omen was distinctly less determined.  But he was faced with a far more immediate problem.  How could he go and ask the sirens for anything if the second he came within ear range, he would be enraptured by their songs.

"There has to be a way," he muttered, unable to believe that his quest would reach such an ignoble end even before it began.  A tuft of seaweed wafted against his ear and he brushed it away impatiently.  Then he froze.

"Of course," he breathed, ripping off a long leaf of seaweed and rolling it up into as small a roll as possible.  He stuffed that into his ear, deafening one side.  Then he repeated the procedure for the other ear.  By the time he was done, he looked a little like he had green hair growing from his ears, but he was deaf to the singing of the sirens. He swam forward, a new hope growing in his chest.

As Omen dove deeper into the chasm, the water grew darker and colder.  He was a little frightened, but then he made himself think of Lorelei and he felt his resolve strengthen.  Suddenly, a dark, eel-like shape swam out of the depths and straight toward him.  It was the same siren as last time with the long serpentine body and the beautiful face, but with horrific sharp teeth that looked capable of tearing a man limb from limb.

Omen felt his body seize up from panic, but he was not under their spell this time.  He took a deep breath and, as soon as the siren was close enough, he drew back his arm and punched her in the face.  Omen smiled grimly as she recoiled.  That would be one spectacular black eye.

She said something, but Omen couldn't hear.

"I can't hear you," he yelled, his voice sounding oddly hollow to himself.  "I have stuffed my ears and made myself deaf to your spells.  I have come to you for a favor."

The siren smiled and made a motion.

"It is safe," she mouthed at his with exaggerated lip gestures.  Omen did not want to trust her, but he knew if he wanted to rescue Lorelei, he had no choice.  He took a tiny bit of seaweed out of one ear.  There was no noise.  He pulled the whole thing out.  The ocean was as empty as if there was not a living soul in it.  He removed the other ear's seaweed as well.

"So you wish to bargain with us?" asked the siren, a certain sibilance to her words.

"I do," replied Omen.

"Then follow me."

And, heart full of misgivings, Omen swam down after the siren and left the last of the sunlight behind.

It was pitch black inside the trench.

"Stop," hissed his guide.  Omen froze.

"Welcome to the lair of the sirens," chorused a number of voices out of nowhere.  Omen nearly jumped out of his fins.

"He's a nervous little thing," mused one, her voice dark and deep like the trench itself.

"And clever," added another, her voice like the wind rasping through autumn leaves, though Omen did not identify it as such.

"What do you want?" asked a third, her voice sounding like no other sound Omen had ever heard.  It was clear that she was the one who had been singing and, even in the vernacular, her voice was magnificent.

"I wish to become a human," he said bravely.

"Popular wish nowadays, isn't it," said the one with the rough, raspy voice.  "I wonder if he thinks he can win back the heart of that cheeky little princess."

"He means to try," muttered the second.

"Very well," said the first in her snakelike tone.  "We will grant his request."

"On one condition," boomed the second.

There was a sudden silence.  Omen could hear a small sound, like the whisper of the water through the seaweeds.  Then the fourth one spoke.

"We will grant you your legs.  And you will have all the time you need to find your beloved Princess.  If, however, she does not agree to marry you, you will become our next meal."

"And if she does?" asked Omen.

"If she agrees to marry you, then she must perform one small task that we have already informed her of, and you will both be able to live out the rest of your lives in peace and harmony."

"I acce-" Omen began, but the siren cut him off, her melodious voice tinged with amusement.

"Not so fast, little boy," she said.  "There's another catch.  You will be like a fish out of water on land, graceless, and you will need to work hard to adjust.  And, in return for the body part we give you, we must take one from you."

They waited a moment for suspense before chorusing "Your eyes."

Omen gulped.

"But how can I-" he began to ask.

"Take it or leave it," the second one interrupted him.

Omen took a deep breath.

"I accept."

He heard laughter surround him, and then the one with the magnificent voice began to sing.  Every nerve in his body thrilled at the sound of her voice and he nearly screamed.  He felt a sharp pain in his tail, as if someone was very carefully slicing it in half with the horn of a narwhale.  He clawed for the surface as, suddenly, it became harder and harder to breath.  But his fins didn't work so he was forced to rely on his hands.  He shut his eyes from the headache that was coming on and, somehow, he knew that his world would be dark from then on.

The pain in his legs had reached its zenith, but Omen felt the bright sun on his face once again.  He knew it was just a little further to the surface.  As he swan the last few feet, he comforted himself with the thought that he would at least be able to find Lorelei by her voice.

Omen's head broke surface and he flailed wildly for what seemed to be an infinite number of hours.  As he grew weaker, he found his head dipping back below the surface.

"No!" he told himself, coughing up copious amounts of the brackish water.  "I won't die like this."

At long last, his tiring arms found something to hold onto.  He grabbed onto the raft, more like a large piece of driftwood than anything else and pulled himself up onto it.  And he drifted.

On the fifth day since his transformation, Omen's raft finally broke, dumping him into the water.  As he fell, he felt the strangest sensation.  The water was only up to his shoulders.  And his feet were resting on the sand.  Omen struck out toward where the water seemed shallower; hope growing once again in his heart and a fierce pain biting into his empty stomach.

Omen stumbled heavily as his feet first touched dry land.  He staggered up onto the sand, coughing up copious amounts of seawater.  Omen fell back down to his knees, trying not to retch.  His hands were buried in the sandy beach, feeling dry ground for the first time in his life.  It was strange to someone who had never left water to feel something so devoid of moisture and Omen spend a few minutes letting it fall through his hands and picking more up.

Finally, he screwed up his courage and got shakily to his feet.

"This isn't so hard," Omen thought.  Then he tried to walk and fell flat on his face, receiving a mouth full of sand.  He spit out the dirt with annoyance.  The dry feeling in his mouth was a new, not that pleasant feeling that he wanted to get rid of as soon as possible.

Omen wiped his mouth and got back to his feet.  He attempted to walk once again.  It wasn't easy but, after numerous attempts, he was finally able to crawl off.  And straight into the water.

He glared at himself, annoyed that he could not see which way the ocean was.  After turning himself around, Omen began the long crawl up away from the ocean.  It was definitely slow going and Omen was often scared that he would be doomed to wandering aimlessly over the beach for all eternity.

It was turning cold outside and the wind was beginning to whip icily through Omen's hair.  He shivered, longing for the warmth of his ocean home.

"Dear God!" he heard a voice above him scream.  "There's a naked man down here!"

"Where?" came another voice.

"Down there!" said the first, a scared sounding, more than slightly sniveling female voice.

"I'll go and see who it is," replied the second voice, which was a deep, friendly sounding baritone.

Omen waited in silence until he heard footsteps faintly approach him.

"Now see here," said the male voice from right above him.  "You can't just go wandering around the King's private beaches with no clothes on.  It ain't proper!"

"I'm sorry," Omen stuttered, trying to mimic the stranger's accent.

"You're not from these parts, are you lad?" asked the man kindly, throwing this large, warm thing over him.  Omen wrapped the cloak around himself gratefully and sat back on his haunches so that he could at least seem to look his rescuer in the face.  "Were you shipwrecked on these shores?"

Omen nodded, figuring that seemed to be a good excuse for what he was doing.

"So where are you from?" he asked.

Omen gulped.

"It's a faraway country," he said, "I don't know if you've ever heard of it.  Oceania?"

"No," replied the man, "Never heard of it.  I'm sorry to hear about your plight, Mr.-"

"Omen," he answered.  "Lord Omen of the Seaweed Forest."

"A lord?" said the man, sounding surprised.  "Then we should bring you up to the King's castle.  But maybe that could wait for tomorrow.  You can stay with my wife and me tonight, she's always happy to help a needy man.  Just follow me.

He began to walk away.

"Wait," called Omen.  He hoped the man had stopped.  "I can't see."

He felt someone tip his chin up.

"So you are blind.  I should have known as much.  Very well, you poor lad, take my hand and I'll lead you to the house."

Omen put his hand gratefully in the man's large, calloused ones.

He stumbled slowly up the rough-hewn path, but the man was patient and they finally reached the top.  Omen was fed the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, some sort of hot, wet broth that teased his taste buds with new sensations they had never felt before.

Afterwards, he was led to a pallet on the floor at which point he fell asleep immediately.  The last thing he heard was the woman of the house marveling over how it was impossible that he never before in his life had tasted chicken soup.

Omen woke up the next morning feeling very disoriented.

"Good morning, m'Lord," said a friendly voice from above him.  It was the mistress of the house.  Omen sat up, making sure to keep the blanket covering his body, since that seemed to be very important to these people.

"Good morning," he replied, managing a faint smile.

"I hope you slept well," she said.  "I know our straw pallets are nothing like the feather mattresses you have at-"

"It was wonderful, Madam," he interrupted her.  "It has been far too long since I even slept in a bed."

Omen smiled.  He was getting good at this lying thing.  From last night's meal, he had learned what shipwrecked meant and he knew that he would have to come up with a few good lies for when he spoke to the King of this country, whatever it was.

"The King was informed of your arrival earlier this morning," said the woman, sponging his face with some cloth.  "He's sent a man down with some clothes for you, the most beautiful, richest fabric I've ever seen.  Oh, but it's probably just sackcloth for you."

The woman continued her friendly chatter and Omen smiled a little as the rough cloth rubbed his face raw.  It was nice to have a mother taking care of him again.

"Let me get my husband, he said he'd help you get dressed."

He heard her footsteps disappear down the stone corridor.

He heard new footsteps come and they sounded heavier than the ones that left.

"Hello again, M'lord," he said formally.  "I've come to help you dress."

Dress?  Omen wondered.  What was that?

He soon found out.  And as he was being encased in what felt like a form fitting blanket, he found the touch of silky smooth material oddly pleasurable, like the sweep of kelp across the chest or the kiss of a princess on his cheek.

"There you are," said the man as he helped stuff Omen's arm into something he called a doublet that reminded him of King Danavas's woven coat of royalty that fit across the chest.

"Thank you," said Omen, smiling at where he thought the man was, judging from the noises in the room.

"No trouble at all," the man replied.  "I know what it's like with you young lords, so used to having your footmen and servants do all the work and the like."

Omen felt a bit of a fool, unwilling to ask what a footman was.

"So what happened to all your servants?" the man enquired.

"They drowned," Omen answered.  "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Begging your pardon," said the man contritely.  "I'm sorry if I offended."

"No offense taken," Omen answered.

The man took Omen's hand and walked him across the room to the door.

"Mind the step," he said and Omen stepped carefully down, still unused to his new legs.  He still tripped and only his host's swift action saved him from tumbling headlong out the door.

"Whoa!" said the man.  "Hold up there, lad!"  He held Omen by the shoulder until he regained his balance.

"Still used to the rocking of the ocean, I wager," said a new voice from above Omen and to the left.

"Poor boy's been blinded," said his former host,  "Why don't you help him a tad?"

Two strong arms lifted Omen up and into some sort of house that was standing in front of him.  It was small, barely a dolphin-length across and rather cramped.  But the fabric of the seats was luxurious and comfortable.  Omen could not see it but it felt as if it would be as pure as a blood red ruby.  The slick velvet caressed his hand and it made him shiver as he brushed his hand down it.

Then the house started to move and Omen squeaked with terror.

"What is this?" he wondered fearfully to himself, gripping the handles of the door with fear.

"Alright back there, young master?" a voice called from the front.

"Perfectly f-fine," answered Omen, ashamed to hear his voice crack on the last word.  The man in front chuckled.

"No need to fret, m'Lord," he said, the amusement in his tone evident, "This carriage had handled worse than Kraken and Leviathan pulling it."

Obviously this house was called a carriage.  And it was towed by the demons of the depths themselves!  What could possibly be worse than that?

Omen sat in the carriage, quaking with mortal dread, for the remainder of the ride.

"Well," said the man as the carriage drew to a half and Omen was flung unceremoniously to the floor of the conveyance.  "Here we are.  Greenknight castle."

The door handle that Omen was using to pull himself up slipped suddenly out of his grasp and the only thing that saved him from pitching headlong into the street was the man's firm grasp on his arm.

"You do seem to have two left feet," said the man.  "I wonder how you are on the dance floor with the ladies?"

"Terrible," said Omen sadly, guessing that such a statement would make the man laugh.  He was right.

"Don't worry," he said, "I've got a fine wife and three youngsters at home and couldn't dance if my life depended on it!"

Omen let that lie and figured that, even if he wanted to know what dancing was, the prospect of bringing up happily ever after with a woman he loved was not a topic he much wanted to broach.

"Let me lead you in," he said.  "And the butler will take you from there."

Omen let the man guide him inside and then found himself in the care of another man.

"Follow me," said the man in a cold, rather high-pitched voice.  He began to walk away from Omen.  Omen did not want to ask this distant man to take his hand and guide him, so he did his best to follow the sound of footsteps on a cold, flagstone floor.

It soon became apparent to his leader that this new guest was not following him and so he returned to Omen.

"Would you like some assistance?" he asked, but his voice implied that he'd rather eat raw squid than actually do Omen some sort of favor.

"I've been robbed of my sight," said Omen coldly, "And your assistance would be much appreciated."

The man took Omen's hand in his cold, clammy ones and Omen tried not to show his revulsion on his face.

He followed the man, which was all he seemed to be doing nowadays, until he felt the man stop short and rap on some metal.  The sound of doors creaking open was heard and a man announced.

"Lord Omen of the Seaweed Plains."

Omen walked forward cautiously in case there were any stairs for him to fall down.  Fortunately, there weren't and so Omen remained at the level of slightly spastic in his walk.

"Welcome to my kingdom," said a booming baritone from in front of Omen.  He bowed as well as he could without toppling over.

"Believe me, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine," he said, quite truthfully.

"We've heard of your plight," the king continued.  "And we extend our condolences to you for all your tragedies."

Omen bowed again.

"I can never repay for your kindness to me," said Omen calmly, walking forward.

He heard the soft rustling of clothes and assumed that the king had just gotten to his feet.  He took two more shaky steps forward before going down on his knees and reaching out his hands.  He felt the king place his hand in his and he kissed the rings of the right hand.

"You must be tired from your journey," said the king.  "I have a suite of rooms prepared for you upstairs that should suit."

He laughed at his little pun and Omen laughed as well, unwilling to seem rude.

"There will be a ball tonight to welcome my daughter's newest suitor.  Will you be attending?"

Oh no! Omen thought to himself.

"Your majesty, I would be honored to."

Omen followed one of the guards upstairs to his new rooms, his stomach churning.

"Dear Neptune," he murmured, "What have I gotten myself into?"

Omen spent the rest of the day dozing and eating, both of which he found to be extremely entertaining.  It had been a long time since he had time to relax, first with the problems in the ocean and now with Lorelei's problem on land.

Omen found himself awakened by a knock on his chamber door.

"M'lord," said a questioning voice.

"Huh?" he asked, his mind fogged by sleep inertia.

"I've come to help you dress for the ball," he said.

"Goldfish excrement," Omen muttered to himself before telling the man to come in.

He stood silently and a little unsteadily as the man slowly and carefully dressed him in yet another suit of clothes.  The fabric on these felt even richer than those before and Omen couldn't help but wonder what sort of puffer fish these sleeves would make him look like.

Then the man began to fiddle with the ends of the clothes, making Omen even more nervous.  He wasn't a fan of perfectionism and this man's incessant changes, not to mention the occasion poking of his skin with something small and sharp was not the way Omen wanted to spend his afternoon.

Finally, the man seemed to be done.

"You look marvelous!" he pronounced and Omen hoped he was right.  After all, it wasn't his place to criticize what was done in this strange land.  Even if he had no idea why they felt the need to wander around in oddly cut bed sheets that seemed to billow out in the oddest places.

"The ball will begin in one half an hour," the man continued.  "I suggest being down no more than fifteen minutes after it begins."

Omen nodded in the direction he thought the voice was coming from.  

"Thank you," he murmured politely as the man walked sprightly out the door.

Omen sat down on the stool that the man had dragged out for him to stand on and put his head in his hands.  What in the name of all that is briny was he going to do?

He sat there, lost in thought, for what he deemed to be ten minutes.

"I should go," he said with a sigh.  He had been thinking about his beautiful princess.  His mind had little doubt that he was an absolute idiot and had sold himself away to the witches, but his heart had yet to lose hope.  And, with hope in his heart and cynicism in his head, Omen made his way down to the ball.

It took Omen a long time to find the central staircase, but he followed the noises from the other guests and soon found himself swept up in the throng of people making their way to the grand dining room.  He walked slowly along with them, smelling the strange scent of perfume and, underneath, unwashed bodies.    He could hear the gossip and chit chat about the current court scandals and how Dame Murielle's clothes were hopelessly out of fashion.  He felt the brush of silk and satin, velvet and velour against his hands.  He tried not to reach out and touch the other people's clothes, but it was quite a challenge.

He was finally stopped by a footman standing at the door to the grand staircase that led down into the majestic ballroom.  Though Omen could not see the impressive displays of wealth that surrounded him, he was fully aware of it from the "oohs" and "ahhs" of his neighbors.

"Your name?" the footman asked.

"Lord Omen of the Seaweed Plains," he answered, holding his head high and willing his incompetent legs to bear his weight down the stairs.

"Lord Omen of the Seaweed Plains," the man called out and Omen, hands clutched tight to the handrail, began his slow descent of the stairs.

He finally reached the center of the hall and walked slowly toward the edges, his head held high.  The slow gait was in order to give those before him time to move out of his way and the raised chin was a gesture of defiance against his ailment, his eyes.  He would not let this handicap stop him now.

"Kind Sir," said a young woman beside him, "Would you care to dance with me?"

Omen turned to where the voice was coming from.

"I am truly sorry," he said, taking her hand as best he could and kissing it, "But I am unable to dance for my eyes do not allow me to.  What is your name, sweet lady?"

He heard her giggle a little.

"Mademoiselle De Lis," she answered.  "I have come with the Prince who is here to as a suitor to your Princess.  Although I fear she is doomed to try yet fail to win his love."

"And why is that?" Omen asked curiously.

"He is in love with another."  Mademoiselle De Lis leaned in closer to Omen.  "It is said that the Prince has vowed only to marry the woman who saved his life over a year ago.  She pulled him from the depths of the ocean and took him to her father's castle, where he recovered and then returned home.  And he hasn't seen her since.  I, however, think that the little redhead next to him has a very good chance of making him forget that vow, if it ever even existed."

"What little redhead?" Omen asked, his breath caught in his throat.  He wondered if it was possible, that maybe this could be it.

"Oh yes, she's his new little friend," the girl drawled, far more than a hint of jealousy in her tone of voice.  "She appeared out of nowhere about two weeks ago and the Prince is enamored of her.  She's a beauty, no doubt about it, and graceful as the dolphins that leap upon the waves.  But the poor girl is mute and cannot speak a word."

Omen's heart was thundering in his chest.  Could this be her, his Lorelei?  Could she have paid the price of her legs with her exquisite voice?  Omen knew that he had to find out and so, after politely excusing himself from Mademoiselle De Lis, he walked purposefully, yet ungainly, towards the direction of the royalty in the rear of the hall.

He found, as he wandered ever closer to his goal, that there were a number of people afraid of him, the strange blind boy from the unknown lands that struggled through their orderly world.  Omen couldn't help but wonder why.  He might have been blind, but the cold reception he received as he drew closer was not lost on him.  

"Welcome, Lord Omen," boomed the king from above him.

"Good Evening, your Majesty," he said, sweeping his most graceful bow, which, admittedly, wasn't very graceful.

"May I introduce you to our royal guests?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer.

"I would be truly honored," Omen replied, knowing that his host couldn't care less about his reply.

"This is Prince Henry the Third of France," he said, along with a number of titles that Omen sincerely hoped he would never need to remember or, worse, parrot back.

"I am truly in awe," said Omen, bowing before the Prince as regally as possible.

"And his mysterious but lovely companion," the King added.  Omen reached out his hand and felt a dainty one placed in his own.  He kissed it reverently.

"Greetings, Princess Lorelei," he murmured for her ears alone.  She pulled back her hand, startled.  Omen smiled.  His guess had not proved false.

"Come," said Prince Henry.  "Sit near me and regale me of tales of your home."

What a pompous idiot, Omen couldn't help but think to himself.  I wonder what Lorelei sees in him?  But Omen, grateful for this chance to be near his Princess, allowed himself to be led to a seat and used this time to exercise his story telling abilities about the fanciful country of Oceania.

His mouth, however, was soon running dry.  Omen stopped to take a sip, glad for this respite for his mouth was not his only organ running dry.  He sipped the water slowly, savoring it the way he did all the strange yet delicious food in this new land.

"Her Majesty," boomed the voice from the staircase, "The Princess Amelia!"  The room was silent as the Princess of the land descended the stairs.  Silent except for one man that is.

"I know that face!" Prince Henry gasped.  He leapt to his feet and ran out to greet her.

"She is the Princess who saved my life," he yelled so that the whole hall could hear.  "And she is the one who will be my bride tomorrow eve."

Omen's jaw dropped.  What sort of cad was this man?  First of all, it was usually a good idea to request permission of the woman you would marry.  Second of all, what about Lorelei?

Omen heard her get to her feet next to him, shivering.  She stood stock still for a moment and, as Omen reached out to take her hand, she turned and fled toward the balcony.

Omen followed as best he could, stumbling along and holding onto the sides of the walls.  He made his way to the end of the corridor where a heavy oak door barred the way to the balcony.  Omen was so interested in getting the door open, he didn't perceive the person curled up at the foot of the door, crying silently.  Once he tripped over her, however, he nearly fell to his knees.

"Lorelei," he whispered, taking her hand and stroking it.  "Lorelei, are you alright?"

She flung her hands around his neck and he held her close, stroking her long, brilliant red hair.  She buried her face in the ruff of his collar, drenching it with tears.

"Shh," he whispered soothingly as he slowly and carefully got to his feet, raising Lorelei up with him.  "Don't cry for him.  He's not worth your tears.  Any man who would love another girl instead of you because of some stupid reason like saving his life is no reason to cry."

Omen knew he was babbling nonsense, but he couldn't stop.  "Please, Lorelei, don't waste your tears on him.  Let him live his life as he wishes to and forget about him.  Come back to the ocean with me."

She shook her head vehemently.

"Why not?" Omen asked desperately.

She just shook her head harder.  Omen sighed.  He knew, by now, that Lorelei must have traded her voice for her legs to the witches.  And he was wracking his brains to find a way to talk to her.

"I have an idea," he said finally.  "I'm going to give you my hand and you can spell out the letters of what you want to say.  Is that alright with you?"

She nodded slowly.  Omen took her small hand in his own and, after kissing it, he lay his hand flat and waited patiently for her to begin.

The first thing she spelled out was the glyph for danger.

"You're in danger if you leave with me?" he asked.  She nodded, her head still against his chest so he could feel her movements.  And, though Omen hardly dared to hope like this, perhaps for another reason as well.

The next thing she wrote out was death.  Omen didn't even bother to ask about that, he knew full well what the witches had threatened to do to him.

"When?" he whispered.

She spelled out tomorrow.

"Why?" Omen asked.

Her fingers sketched the sign for marriage.

"Because he's marrying Princess Amelia?" Omen continued.  She nodded.  "Instead of you?"  She nodded again and broke down again, sobbing.  Omen held her close again, though he felt like dissolving into tears himself, he refused to.

"Isn't there any other way?" he asked, remembering vaguely that the witches had said that there was a chance for him to save her.

She nodded, still crying.  Omen reached out and gently brushed away her tears.  "Tell me."

She took his hands and quickly wrote the symbols for murder and prince.  Omen nodded.  Then she withdrew a knife from her pocket and placed it in his hand.  She wrote the word sisters next to it.

"Your sisters gave you the knife so that you could kill the Prince," Omen murmured.  "And then you'd be released!"

She nodded before reaching up and winding her fingers in Omen's hair.

"Can you?" he asked her, unsure of what exactly was going on here.

She shook her head and then put her hand on Omen's chest.  The message was clear.  She was giving him the job of doing it.

"Lorelei," he whispered, sliding the knife back into her pocket, "I would do anything for you.  But, I don't think any hand other than yours can strike the blow to kill him."

She shook her head angrily, a fierce denial of her painful situation.

"Sweetheart," he said gently, caressing her hair, "I need you to help me.  Tell me, what exactly did the witches say you had to do?"

She took his hand and, after drying her eyes, began to spell out her exact directions.

"You would be turned into a human…" he said as she finished the first phrase.  She nodded and continued, "Until your true love falls in love with you and agrees to marry you… and then you will remain a human forever… but if  your Prince were to marry another beforehand… you will die and float forever as the foam of the sea."

"My beautiful little mute," the Prince called down the hallway.  "Come back and dance as is your wont for me and my bride-to-be.

Lorelei gently wrote "Goodbye" on the palm of his hand and, after one soft kiss on the cheek, she disappeared down the hallway to where Prince Henry was calling her.

"Sweet Neptune!" Omen hissed, sitting down against the wall.  "What a pretty pair of star crossed lovers we must make."  He had learned that phrase from his hostess earlier in the day and was finding it ironically appropriate to his current plight.

Omen made his way back to where his current host was seated.

"Hello again, Lord Omen," said Prince Henry cheerily.

"Greetings, your majesty," was Omen's rather cold reply.  No matter, or perhaps, because of how much Lorelei liked him, Omen could not make room in his heart to have some affection for this man.

Omen sat in darkness as the world watched the light of Lorelei's dancing.  It was not for him to enjoy this sight yet.  But, as he told himself time and time again, it will be someday.

The ball ended in the wee hours of the morning.  Omen was more than ready to sleep, but he felt a tug on his shirt.  He reached out and caught Lorelei's hand.  He smiled and followed his mermaid out the door toward the corridor they had occupied earlier.

"Lorelei?" Omen asked, reaching for her hand.  She grabbed it and, instead of beginning to write on in, she uses it to pull herself into his arms.

"Lorelei," he groaned softly, wishing the moment could last forever.  She reaches up and, as gently as she could, she kissed him on the lips.

A few seconds later they both draw back in surprise.  She reached for his hand, her own fingers fluttering over the surface without spelling anything for she is unsure what to say.

"Lorelei, do you love me?" Omen asked, a strange fire of both fear and hope in his heart.

She stands stock still for a moment before pressing her head against his breastbone and nodding.

"Sweet Neptune," Omen whispered.  He had just found the key to all their problems.

"Lorelei," he said, cupping her face in his hands, "I have an answer.  When the witches told that your true love had to agree to marry you, did they ever say that it had to be the Prince?"

She froze for a moment as she thought it over.  Finally, she shook her head.

"They just said your true love had to agree to marry you before the Prince were to marry."

She nodded.

"Very well," he said, grinning from ear to ear.  "Princess Lorelei of Levyatan, will you, my one true love, do me the great honor of being my wife?"

There was a palpable silence in the air as Omen waited to feel her reply.  When it came, however, he was astounded.

"Yes," she whispered, reaching for him.  "I will."

Omen looked down into Lorelei's pale green eyes and smiled before kissing her.

"We should return to the sea," he said finally.

"Don't you remember?" she asked.  "I can never go back to my old life."

Omen nodded and, after one last sad look out the window to the sea that was once his home, he turned back to Lorelei.

"That's alright," he said.  "I like the food here better anyway."

She smiled happily and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"So we're going to live happily ever after on land?" she asked him teasingly, kissing his nose.

Omen didn't even bother to reply, he just kissed her.

And Lorelei and Omen went to stay in a small seaside castle where the Little Mermaid and her true love lived Happily Ever After.

_~The End~_


End file.
